


Moment of Weakness

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Impulse Control, Propositions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "The majority of humans and other closely-related species seem to be...indisposed, Captain."Chris huffed a dark laugh. That was a way to put it. "That's what I'm seeing, too. Whatever that flare is, it's messing with people's impulse control. They're justreacting, no thought. We're in goddamn id town down here."
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 50
Kudos: 125





	Moment of Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after 2.05 "Saints of Imperfection." This deals with the temporary removal of characters' self-control, so if that will bother you, approach with caution.

Chris was just returning from his rounds in the lower science labs—the botanists were doing really impressive work; he'd need to commend that somehow—when a strange beam of orange light _flared_ throughout the ship. Chris hissed as it seared into his brain, sensation he didn't even know how to describe—there were no nerve endings in the brain, but he still _felt_ it—and then the light was gone, Chris shaking it off, looking to the other dazed crew members in the hall. 

"Everybody okay?" he asked, getting a round of nods as he moved to a nearby panel and hit the comm. "Pike to the bridge. Report."

Saru's voice responded: "Analyzing now, Captain. It appears to be some kind of flare from the nearby nebula, but our shields are having no effect. We've filtered out the light, but—Lieutenant Bryce, _what_ are you doing?" 

Down the hall, Chris noticed two warrant officers suddenly fall into each other, making out messily in the middle of the hall. They stumbled into the wall, mouths fused together, like they weren't on duty and in public. He frowned, even as he prodded Saru: "Everything all right there, Commander?"

Saru's voice was tight as he replied, "Sir, we seem to be experiencing some behavioral anomalies—Lieutenant Detmer, get off Lieutenant Owosekun _this instant_."

Beyond the couple still making out, Chris spotted a specialist stomping down far the intersection, an ensign trailing him, shouting, "You never _fucking_ listen!"

"I'm seeing the same here, Saru. Presumably this is due to the flare. We need to modulate the shields to block out whatever this thing is."

"Understood, sir. Commander Airiam is working on it now."

"I'll get there as soon as I can. Pike out." He strode down the hall to the warrant officers, using his captain's voice: "Hey, you two. Not the time or place." 

The warrant officers separated, blinking at him muzzily, then fell back into each other, moaning into each other's mouths. 

Chris might have laughed in another context, but their eyes had held no _awareness_ , like they were operating purely on instinct. Alarm slipped through him as he decided not to press. If this was happening all over the ship, they needed to address the root cause. 

He made his way through the halls, dodging increasingly bizarre tableaus—a trail of clothes leading into a nearby lab, other couples in various intimate clinches, an ensign curled into a ball, crying in the corner though nothing seemed to be wrong with him. 

"Captain," a voice purred. 

Chris looked over just as Specialist Rivera moved _into_ his space. He instinctively backed up, but she just followed, staring at him with sultry dark eyes. "I've been looking for you," she said, all wicked suggestion, her lips curling around the words, inviting. 

_Shit_. 

"I have to get to the bridge," he said, cool and professional, even as she continued advancing on him, intent. The base part of Chris couldn't help but take her in—stunning, with wide dark eyes, smooth light brown skin, a jawline that could cut glass, and a _body_ —but all Chris could think was he didn't want _her_ , no matter her charms. 

Rivera made a negative noise just as Chris' back hit the wall, nowhere left to retreat. She kept going, pressing up against him, nuzzling into his neck. "Or you could stay," she said, nipping at him lightly, sending a burst of _heat_ through him, her hands starting to explore. 

Chris caught them, ducking out from under her, taking a calming breath. He squeezed her hands, pointed. "I appreciate the offer, but I really do have to go," he said, releasing her and backing away. 

Rivera pouted, drawing attention to her full lips. "Come find me if you change your mind," she drawled, her eyes promising all the filthiness he could imagine. 

He could imagine a lot. Chris quashed those thoughts and turned away, heading down the hall toward the turbolifts, shaking off the physical reaction. He took some consolation in the fact that he _could_. That whatever the flare was, it didn't seem to be affecting him. 

He crossed an intersection, stepping over the contents of a spilled repair kit, wondering what happened to its owner—

"You!" a voice rang out. 

Chris was _shoved_ from behind, staggering forward, keeping his feet and moving with his momentum until he could get a forearm on the wall and swing himself around—

To find one very pissed off Tyler, dark eyes glaring in malice. 

Chris straightened, bristling. " _Specialist Tyler_ ," he said in his most forbidding voice. "You are assaulting a superior officer."

"Yeah, you're so _superior_ ," Tyler mocked, advancing on him, aggression written in every line of his body. "You come here like you're owed it, lording your good-guy reputation over all of us."

Chris frowned, taking that in, more there than he had time to parse. Part of Chris suspected Tyler's issue didn't have much to do with him at all. "The flare is affecting people, Tyler. You're not yourself."

"I'm more myself than I've ever been. I see clearly. I see the way she looks at you," he said, an accusation in it. "You don't deserve her."

Chris' eyes narrowed. Tyler had been aboard for a hot minute and Chris could already see he had eyes for only one person: Michael. Part of him _thrilled_ to have his suspicion confirmed, that the interest he'd felt from her wasn't only in his head. The rest of him was annoyed that the confirmation came through _Tyler_. 

"A jealous lover's spat? Really?" he volleyed back, irritation flaring. Now that he was faced with a confrontation, he could feel his own patience wearing thin in a way it normally wouldn't. Tyler challenging him didn't generally bother him; hell, Chris had fun with those moments, reminding Tyler who was in charge. 

This simmering within him was new. Chris wondered if this was the flare's effect—normal levels of control frayed just enough that people snapped. 

Idly, Chris wondered what would make him snap. It certainly wasn't _Tyler_. 

Tyler, who was getting in his face, shoving at his chest lightly, goading. "You wouldn't even be here if you hadn't broken your ship."

"That's _enough_ ," Chris said, ice in his voice. "You will confine yourself to quarters until this situation is resolved."

Tyler scoffed. "That'll happen."

"Don't test me, Mr. Tyler. If you're a danger to others, you need to take yourself out of the equation. Or did you not learn that lesson?"

The punch came out of nowhere, Chris dodging it at the last moment, angling to the side as Tyler's momentum turned him. 

Chris struck out, landing a hit to his kidney that doubled him over, Chris instantly sweeping in and getting his arm around Tyler's neck in a sleeper hold. "Sorry about this, but I can't let you hurt anyone," he said, keeping pressure on his carotid arteries, silently counting even as Tyler struggled in his hold.

It didn't last long. A few seconds and Tyler went limp, Chris lowering him to the floor. He checked that his breathing was fine, then stood. Hopefully they could recalibrate the shields before Tyler woke up. Even if he did, Chris' presence seemed to be the antagonist. Maybe his absence would alleviate the aggression. 

"Captain!" Wells called from down the hallway, striding toward him.

Oh, for god's sake. 

"Now is not the time, Wells," Chris snapped.

Irritation flashed across her face. She planted her hands on her hips and _glared_. "Excuse me, I do not need some flare to gin up the courage to hit on you. It is _always_ time to hit on you, I have proven this."

It startled a laugh out of Chris. "Okay, that's fair."

That seemed to mollify her. "Jansen is in the mess eating all the cake. _All_ the cake. It's a problem. And also kind of hot? But mainly a problem."

Chris shot her a look. "Jansen, really?"

She dropped green eyes down his form, suggestive. "Well, some people won't play." 

Chris laughed again. He shook his head at her. "Specialist, you're officially on Jansen duty. Just make sure his stomach doesn't explode." He turned away, then whipped back. "And don't do anything you'll regret."

Wells actually rolled her eyes at him. "Like that's a thing." She started down the hall, then turned, walking backwards as she added: "Oh, right, I meant to tell you. I saw Tilly carting some of her dark matter business and muttering about the spore drive. Someone might want to check and make sure she doesn't bounce us to another dimension or something."

Chris stilled. _Shit_. 

He moved to the nearest wall panel, activating the comm. "Pike to bridge. Has anyone heard from Tilly?"

Saru's voice came over the comm, a note of strain to it Chris had never heard before. "No, Captain, but in truth, we're a bit...preoccupied right now. We are down to three working crewmembers on the bridge. Medbay is no longer responding, so we have to assume the same is true throughout the ship."

Christ.

"Status on the shield modification?"

"Commander Burnham is manually modifying the deflector array now. Once she finishes that, Lieutenant Airiam will need a few minutes to reprogram the frequency modulator."

Chris let himself feel the relief that Michael was still in control of herself. "Good. And the crew?"

"The majority of humans and other closely-related species seem to be...indisposed, Captain." 

Chris huffed a dark laugh. That was a way to put it. "That's what I'm seeing, too. Whatever that flare is, it's messing with people's impulse control. They're just _reacting_ , no thought. We're in goddamn id town down here. Tilly might be doing something funky with the spore drive, so I'm heading to test bay alpha. Keep me apprised. Pike out."

***

As he stepped out of the turbolift, Chris instantly spotted a nurse prone on the deck, her medkit spilled around her. He rushed over, checking her pulse and breathing, noting she was fine, just unconscious. He frowned, looking at the readout on the hypospray—a sedative. Huh. 

He kept the sedative, figuring it might come in handy. With an apologetic glance to the nurse, he stood and kept going. At the moment, Tilly took priority. 

He walked quickly to test bay alpha, noting that the halls were surprisingly empty down here, wondering at that. But he dismissed it as he walked through the doors, catching sight of Tilly at the spore drive console fiddling with some kind of augmented interface, a clear tube at its top holding a glowing rock fragment. 

"Stand down, Ensign," he called, moving down the stairs, eyes trained on Tilly.

Tilly, whose hair was loose, whipping it over her shoulder as she looked over and met his eyes. "I've almost got it," she said, alight with the joy of discovery, not really _here_. 

Chris held out his free hand, trying to visibly bring her down. "Slow down. What are you talking about?"

"The coherent resonator!" she cried, like he had any idea what the hell she meant. "The fragment of asteroid I scavenged from the table held enough metreon-charged dark matter to create a navigational interface. A few centimeters of rock and I was able to build a prototype!" she said, tripping over her words to get them all out, thrilled with herself. 

Chris pulled on his best impressed expression. "That's amazing work, Tilly. Why don't you step away and tell me all about it?"

Tilly flapped a dismissive hand at him. "I can multitask!" She hooked the interface into the tubes that delivered the spores to the reaction cube as she kept going: "Everyone's all, 'ohh, Stamets invented a new branch of science,' well, so did I! So what if it infected me with an interdimensional parasite, my science was _right_ ," she insisted, heated.

"I believe you. We should talk to Stamets about it," he said, trying to distract her from the console, slowly moving toward her. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Hugh showed up and hauled him away by the mouth and it was really hot, but I'm trying to be respectful and like, not, objectify my colleagues, but also it was really hot and ugh, I'm conflicted."

Chris nodded through the barrage of _words_ , just trying to keep her talking. And not engaging in any risky scientific experiments out of pique. "That sounds really difficult for you."

Tilly's focus snapped back to him. "Don't go all care-taking on me! It's hard enough with your hands and your face and I don't do that to my friends," she insisted, heated. 

Chris blinked, trying to unscramble that. "You realize I have no idea what you're talking about."

But apparently Tilly was settling into the argument they were supposedly having. "And by the way, it is _not cool_ to just show up here all hot and then be super inscrutable about your relationship status. Do you know how much of my life I have to spend hearing people go on and on about your ass? I could be thinking about other people's asses, you know. Like, Rhys. Who's really quite lovely even though I'm kind of torn given that whole ill-advised shore leave. But, like, who knew Cantaran firewhisky knocks you out in three drinks?"

"Everybody knows that," Chris muttered. 

"You're not helping!" She glared at him. "Just because you know all the things doesn't mean everyone knows all the things. You're, like, one of the most decorated people in the Fleet, okay?" That seemed to strike her. "And what's up with that, anyway? You got the Campbell _and_ the Carrington? The Carrington is a _medical_ award. You were a test pilot."

"Well, I'm a genius," he said, deadpan, moving ever closer to where she stood behind the console.

Tilly scoffed. "Geniuses are remote and grouchy and hostile for no reason."

Chris cocked his head. "Like you're remote and grouchy and hostile for no reason?" he asked pointedly.

Tilly stilled. "Wait, you think I'm a genius?" she asked, blinking wide blue eyes at him. 

Chris saw his chance and darted in, pressing the hypo to her neck and injecting the sedative. He caught her as her eyes fluttered, moving her out from behind the console and lowering her to the deck gently. "Of course you're a genius, Tilly. And I'll be happy to try out your idea once all the other geniuses have signed off." 

Tilly made a pleased noise and then went limp. 

Chris sighed and straightened, wondering if he should move her to somewhere more comfortable, when he heard the doors open behind him—

He turned to find Michael rushing down the stairs as the doors closed behind her, frantic eyes darting from Tilly on the deck to the hypospray beside her and up to Chris. Their eyes met—

And the whole world dimmed. 

Chris didn't know what happened. One second he was looking at Michael and the next she was in his arms, their mouths colliding in a heated tangle, devouring each other like they'd been waiting _ages_. In some ways, it felt like they had, Chris sweeping his tongue into her mouth, already drunk on her taste. 

Michael hustled him back as they kissed, hands exploring, until Chris' back hit the spore drive console and Michael pressed her body against his, tearing a groan from his throat. God, she felt good. 

"You feel so good," Michael murmured into his mouth, rubbing herself against him, fireworks exploding in his brain, already half-hard just from this. 

"Been waiting for you," he said, voice thick, groaning again and thrusting against her hip, lust racing through his blood, one hand moving to her ass, pulling her closer so they could rock into each other. 

" _Yes_ ," Michael hissed, grinding into his hardening cock. "I knew you'd be like this. The way you _walk_. Can barely look at you," she mumbled in between kisses, like she was helpless not to say it. 

The confession, so clearly not _new_ —she felt it, too, she _had_ been looking—sent desire rushing through him, making Chris lightheaded. Still, he needed _more_. His other hand joined the first on Michael's ass. He lifted her up—

She wrapped her legs around him as he turned and carried her to the other side of the console, setting her on it, ignoring the flashing screens. 

"Strong," she breathed against him, digging her hands into the muscles of his shoulders, keeping him close as she bit at his mouth. 

Then hands were at his throat, Michael yanking at his collar, unzipping his jacket impatiently, flinging it away. She made a wanting noise as she yanked his shirt up, mouth landing on skin, shoving the shirt off.

"Fuck," Chris muttered as her mouth scraped over his nipple, shooting heat straight to his now very hard cock.

Michael worked at her own jacket as she kissed and bit her way over his chest, shrugging out of it and then pulling back to yank at the tank top she wore underneath, leaving her in only the standard-issue black bra, Chris' brain shorting at all the skin revealed. 

He leaned down and _fused_ their mouths together, Michael making a hungry noise against his lips. Even just that sent a frisson of lust clear through him. 

Chris kissed his way down her jaw to her neck then down to her chest, trailing sucking kisses all the way down to her breast, where he took a nipple into his mouth _through_ the black fabric of her bra. 

" _Yes_ ," Michael called out, breathless, turned on, and he wanted to hear that for the rest of his _life_. 

Michael shifted underneath him, getting her hands behind herself, bra loosening—

She flung it somewhere behind her and Chris made a hungry noise of his own, bending his head to take a dark nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly. 

Michael actually mewled in pleasure, a hand gripping in his hair as she arched her back to get more, hips still moving against his as much as they could. 

Chris kissed his way to her other breast then nipped her there, getting a gasp and a, " _Please_." He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked, _hard_ , the breathy moans sending more heat to his cock, distractingly hard and ready for her. 

"I want," she gasped, making a dark noise in her throat as he scraped his teeth over her nipple, " _More_." She got a hand between them, cupping his aching cock, Chris thrusting forward instinctively, lust _burning_ up his spine. He could come like this, he knew, just grind against her until they both went up in flames—

But he didn't want that. So he pulled himself back, lifting his head from her breast to look at her lust-dark eyes. "Not yet," he said, his voice rough. "First I want to taste you."

Michael's breath caught, her mouth open, lips puffy from their kisses. She looked _incredible_. 

"Yeah," she breathed, shaking hands moving from him to the clasp of her pants. 

Chris smiled and dropped his mouth to her skin, kissing between the swell of her breasts, backing away a little so he could kiss his way _down_ —little nips over her sternum, mouthing his way down her smooth stomach to her bellybutton, nibbling around it. 

Michael grunted. "Stop stalling," she said, frustrated, still working at her pants. 

Chris pulled away, looking up her heaving chest to meet her eyes with a sly grin. "And ruin my fun?"

Michael narrowed her eyes—

And the hum of the ship _changed_. A burning kind of awareness _seared_ through Chris' mind, making him bow his head and hiss, vaguely hearing Michael do the same. When he looked back up—

His mind was clear, horror starting to leak in. Michael stared down at him, panting, eyes suddenly _aware_. Dimly, Chris realized Saru and Airiam must have done it, shields filtering out the flare. But mostly he couldn't get past how he was _half-naked_ and _hard_ , he had Michael up on the console, her breasts swaying with every breath she took. 

Chris _shoved_ himself back, staggering a little as his cock remained _really very hard_. He turned away, stepping past Michael toward the reaction cube, the image of her half-naked and wanting burned into his retinas. Chris _reeled_. He'd held it together until their eyes met and then it was like he was _gone_ , outside of his own body, even as he was fully present in it, drunk on pleasure, Michael moving against him so perfectly, her soft noises all he could hear. 

Chris gritted his teeth as that thought sent another little pulse of _heat_ through him. That was...not helping. 

Behind him, he heard her hop down, then the rustling of fabric. His eyes skated over Tilly, still unconscious, then landed on Michael's bra, on the deck. He picked it up and blindly held it behind him, wordless. 

She took it, saying nothing, though he could hear fabric shifting as she quickly dressed. Chris moved to the reaction cube, resting his forehead against it, trying to will his body back under control, his mind racing through all the things she'd _said_. She had kept it together, too, right up until she came in here and saw him. Then something had switched off for her, too, pressing herself to him, desperate for it. 

Chris didn't know if that meant anything. He knew what he wanted it to mean, but he was also still compromised, his cock demanding he get back to what they were doing, so it wasn't like he could trust his judgment at the moment.

Finally, the dressing noises behind him stopped, Michael pausing before heading for the door. "I'll get a nurse down here for Tilly," she said, clipped. 

"Good idea." In his peripheral, Chris clocked Michael walking out. She didn't look back. 

As soon as the doors closed behind her, he sagged. 

_Fuck_.

***

Hyper aware of the erection that was not flagging anytime soon, Chris pulled his shirt back on and grabbed his jacket. He held it in front of him as he headed for the nearest head, locking himself in, blessedly alone. 

He kept his mind blank as he jerked off, quick and perfunctory, but thoughts of Michael kept intruding—the way she moved against him, her wrecked voice calling out, the sway of her breasts as he kissed all over her. 

The orgasm came out of nowhere, pleasure _blinding_. Chris panted, fine tremors shivering through him for a moment before he shrugged off the bliss. He cleaned himself up, his body getting back under his control. 

If only his mind would. 

***

Hours later, after much damage control—more emotional than anything, really—the bridge crew convened for a briefing. Most filed in and headed for the conference table, including Michael, who was determinedly not looking at him. Regret slipped through Chris, followed by resolve. They needed to talk. 

Tyler was the exception. He stepped up to Chris' desk, meeting his gaze directly. "Sorry," he said, succinct. 

The unforced acknowledgment surprised Chris, but he just nodded. "Accepted. No harm done."

"Except to my pride," Tyler quipped, making Chris smile. He didn't particularly like Tyler, but the upfront apology and acceptance raised his opinion a little. 

And he still couldn't get Tyler's words out of his head. _I see the way she looks at you._ Chris shot a glance to Michael; she wasn't looking at him now. 

He sighed, then stepped up to the conference table, all eyes swinging to him, including Michael's, though she seemed to be looking over his shoulder. Chris ignored that. "Okay, what do we got?"

Saru tipped his head, long-suffering. "A contrite crew, sir."

Chris laughed. 

***

After they had gone through everything, Chris looked to Saru with an appreciative nod. "Good job, Commander. Without your efforts, who knows where we'd be."

Saru inclined his head, pleased, but generous as always: "We could not have done it without Commanders Burnham and Airiam, as well."

Chris nodded to both, Michael holding his gaze now, at least. "Indeed. Thank you, all. Get me your reports when you can." The group took that as its dismissal, everyone standing and heading for the door. 

Chris moved to his desk, clocking the quieter-than-usual bunch—hopefully the awkwardness would fade with a bit of time and air-clearing. 

Speaking of. 

"Burnham," Chris called, avoiding his captain's voice, putting a subtle request in it.

Michael paused on her way to the door. He could see her indecision, the desire to avoid him warring with her bravery. After a moment, the bravery won, Michael turning to approach his desk as the others walked into the turbolift, doors sealing behind them. 

And then they were alone. Chris leaned back against his desk, not wanting this to come off as him commanding, trying to decide how best to play it. 

Michael beat him to it, launching right in: "Sir, I recognize that we found ourselves in an awkward situation, but it was just a moment. We're adults. We can move on without it affecting our working relationship," she said, holding his eyes determinedly, like she had rehearsed this in her head, a studied kind of casual. Like she _hadn't_ been half-naked and writhing against him a few hours ago, confessing that she'd been watching him, wanting. 

The fact that she'd prepped for this decided it.

"Have dinner with me tonight," he volleyed back, throwing caution to the wind. 

Michael blinked. She shook her head, once, not following. "Dinner?" she echoed, faint. 

"Yes," he said, not backing down. 

Helplessness flickered in her eyes. "Am I on the menu?" she managed to get out, half-strangled, like she needed to know exactly what this meant. 

Chris huffed a laugh, unable to help it. "No," he said, soft, still smiling. 

"Then...why?" she asked, almost mystified, like if this wasn't a proposition what could it possibly be?

Chris let his amusement drain away, loosing his hold on the affection he did his best to hide. He saw her register it in the way she blinked, something startled coming over her. But still, Chris did need to _say_ it, for both of them, really: "I like you," he said simply. "Yes, that was a moment, but it didn't come out of nowhere. At least for me. I'd like to explore the attraction, see where it goes." 

Michael stared at him, on the surface blank, but Chris could tell her mind was furiously working behind the neutrality. He wondered if she had learned that trick on Vulcan. He found he wanted to know. 

She didn't say anything. The silence went on long enough that it started to get oppressive, an answer in itself, so Chris tipped his head and straightened, heading back around his desk, letting her off the hook. "I understand if you don't feel the same—"

"No," Michael said quickly, grabbing his arm, stopping him. 

Chris looked from her hand holding him up to her eyes, something intriguing there. He hadn't seen it before. "No?" he echoed. That could mean any number of things. 

"We should have dinner," she clarified, letting go of him, but taking another step closer.

Heat slipped through him at the way Michael watched him, eyes luminous. "1900?" Chris suggested. 

Michael nodded, looking up at him through her lashes, banked heat there now. "Are you sure I'm not on the menu?" she asked, voice wavering a little, like she wasn't used to saying such things, but the desire still clear. 

Chris got a sudden flash of that—Michael up on his meal table, gasping his name in that _voice_ as he ate her out—so visceral and present his cock actually twitched. 

"Pretty sure," he said, voice gone rough, wholly out of his control. 

Michael swallowed. "I suppose there's always dessert," she said, low, sending a rush of lust clear through him. 

Then she straightened, expression gone professional. "Captain," she acknowledged, heading for the door. 

Unable to help himself, Chris' eyes dropped to the sway of her hips, body tingling with desire, mouth gone dry. As the doors opened, she looked back at him, catching him watching, something embarrassed flashing through her eyes, but underneath it... _hunger_. 

She disappeared behind the doors and Chris breathed out, once. 

Well. This was promising. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
